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by orphan_account



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: Clato - Freeform, F/M, Fluffish, ptsd maybeish, some OCs, victors au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-05
Updated: 2016-02-04
Packaged: 2018-05-18 07:19:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5904781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Victors AU where in the silence, Cato and Clove are left to ponder on their actions and what winning really means. Sorry if I have any OOC characters, I really don't have much material to work with in the books and even less in the movies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home

CLOVE'S POV  
It was almost like "home" wasn't a word anymore, like I said it too many times like I did when I was little before training. I still liked the way it felt on my tongue, though. Hell, training taught me to distance yourself from home during the Games. Makes the killing part easier, and homesickness can kill your survival determination. My adrenaline from the games was gone now, and in its place a hole sat. I hated it. I hated the sadness. I did what I had to. Sadness is weakness. I am not weak, never weak. I volunteered for those games myself, and I rejoiced when I was picked from the throngs of volunteers. I shouldn't reget ANYTHING. I do, though. I hate, hate, hate it. The velvet was beginning to stick to the bottom of my legs in the black dress that barely covered anything. I knew it would be like this, I went in knowing that. I was glad to go in knowing perfectly well that he would die if I lived. Part of me, the stupid and naive part of me, the part of me not honed into a killing machine, the one still making daisy chains and making gaga eyes at cute boys, still hopes for a miracle. They could pull it off, right? I mean, he didn't die that long before they picked me up. Die. What a funny word. Like "home." Something so real, yet I refuse to acknowledge it. There are some deaths I am perfectly fine with, most of them, actually. There are still a couple that caught me off guard, regrettably. Glimmer. Cato. Cato. God, why? I'm trying, I swear. To harden myself. I did it when I slit the 12 girl's throat. I did it when a concussion from that hulking 11 brute threatened my very life. I did it for the Games. Why not now? Huh? Love is so cruel. So stupid and cruel. CURSE IT ALL. Right, compose yourself. You are not weak. Never weak. So I look out the window, and I breathe. Don't think. Just..... breathe. Pick it up, Clove. Get over it.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! Please ignore any typos, sorry, editing's not really my thing. This was inspired by an Instagram account called yourdailydoseofclato so go! Follow! Do other stuff! And if you really wanna go all the way, follow me at spearmintpatty or mintieswriting on Tumblr! Comment! Like! Kudos! Do other stuff!


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